6

Amelia stiffened. For half a heartbeat, she'd thought Charles had responded to her—thought she was going mad—until the sound of the voice registered.

That soft caramel tone. The Voice. The Voice.

Kipling .

She froze, even as she felt him moving behind her.

"Safe from the cook's chopping block,"

he murmured as he lowered himself to the dirt beside her.

"Yes,"

she rasped, staring down at the birds in her arms because that was easier than looking at him. "I should have known they would both be safe."

"Are they?"

Kipling reached out to brush a fingertip over Becky's head. "Because, love, I hate to tell ye…but ye're choking yer chicken."

A startled laugh burst out of her lips, and she loosened her hold on the birds as she settled back on her heels.

Both of them turned in her arms. Charles jumped down, oblivious to her worry— Men !—but Becky settled into Amelia's lap.

Her gaze was locked on the hen, her breathing shallow. Why was he here? Why had he come to the garden?

Was it possible he'd chosen her over Emma?

"Amelia, I…"

He began, but when he trailed off, she held her breath.

When his hand covered hers—where it rested atop the chicken—she startled and darted a glance at him.

"There ye are,"

he murmured, his lips curling softly. "This is easier with ye looking at me."

"What is?"

she whispered.

"Me telling ye my feelings."

Oh .

He shifted until he was kneeling in front of her, his back to the rosemary, his gaze intense. "Amelia, ye ken I cared for ye before I left, aye? I told ye the reason I ran, because I didnae want to besmirched yer honor—or my friendship with Alistair—by acting upon any of my feelings."

She swallowed, now unable to look away.

"What I didnae tell ye,"

he whispered, "was that my feelings havenae changed."

It took a moment for his words to sink in, and her lips formed a little "oh"

of surprise. "They…have not?"

Kip shook his head. "I love ye, Lady Amelia Kincaid. I have for so many years, and I thought I'd go mad from it. I wasnae worthy of loving ye, no' then—"

She squeezed his hand. "You are the worthiest, Kipling. You are the same person you have always been."

The silence lasted a dozen heartbeats, before The Grin slowly arrived.

"Ye're the only one who can see that,"

he murmured, his blue gaze caressing her face. "Ye and Alistair and Fawkes, I guess. To everyone else, I'm a duke."

"Well, yes."

Amelia shrugged a little awkwardly, what with the chicken in her lap. "You are a duke. But you are also still Kipling…the man I used to spy on when he visited my brother, because I thought him the most handsome man in the world."

He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her fingertips without dropping her gaze. "And now?"

Amelia forced herself to take a deep breath. "I still think you the most handsome man in the world. But…"

When he nipped at the skin on the back of her knuckles, a jolt of something shot through her body, and her eyes opened wide.

"But?"

Kip prompted.

"But I also think you are…kind…and supportive and-and-and—"

"Ye're having trouble concentrating, love?"

He'd flipped her hand over, and his lips were now pressed against her wrist. Each kiss was a brand against her soul.

"And you see me ,"

she gasped out, pressing her thighs together and squirming a bit. "You always have."

"And I always will,"

he promised.

That vow seemed… important . It probably was. But Amelia was having trouble concentrating.

"Amelia, ye have my sincere apologies for everything that bitch has ever said to ye."

She gasped, half horrified, half delighted. "Emma?"

"I wasnae going to speak her name."

There was a sparkle in his eyes as he brushed his lips across her wrist again, then reached for her other hand. "But aye, her. My association with her—my mother's friendship with her mother—brought her into yer orbit. Thus her cruelty is my fault."

"N-nay."

The man had turned his attention to her other wrist, and without dropping the first one. "She is— oh ."

"Ye told me that ye once cared for me."

He watched her over the top of her knuckles. "Do ye think ye might learn to love me again, Mellie?"

Oh, my heart.

"I-I do,"

she gasped, delighted by the sensations coursing through her body, and the look of promise in his eyes.

He grinned. "I like the sound of those words on yer lips. If ye ask me the same…?"

"Could you—could you love me again, Kipling?"

Amelia whispered, eyes wide.

"Och, darling, I already do. I've loved ye for years. I still love ye. I'll love ye forever."

She melted.

That was the only explanation.

Between the heat of his gaze, and his teasing kisses, and the whole sitting-on-the-damp-ground thing…she melted.

Right into his arms.

One moment, she was upright, the next she was clasped to Kip's chest, her arms around his neck, and he was beaming down at her.

And Becky the chicken was still in her lap, somehow.

"Can I kiss ye, Mellie?"

he murmured.

"If you do not, I shall likely perish posthaste."

The Grin flashed, and then his lips claimed hers.

Finally .

Part of Amelia was singing in joy, knowing that after so many long years, she was finally able to taste Kipling Mancheste. Another part of her was telling the first part to shut up and pay attention, because this was a truly remarkable experience.

And all of her was melting again.

His lips were remarkable. Soft and determined all at once, his beard a delightful sensation against her skin. He showed her how to tease, how to play. When he nibbled at her lower lip, she gasped, and he used the opportunity to drag his tongue along the crease of her lips.

Well, that was even more delightful, wasn't it?

Their tongues caressed one another, playfully at first, then intensely. The kiss grew too large to contain, and exploded into a dozen smaller kisses, each of which was placed along her jaw, and her throat, and once, the tip of her nose, which made her smile.

Amelia was still smiling when they finally broke apart, breathing heavily. His palm cupped the side of her neck and he rested his forehead against hers, looking as if he was desperately fighting for control.

"Marry me, Mellie?"

Kip murmured.

She thought her heart had been full.

It turned out, it could take a bit more shock. "Marry…?"

Kip straightened, pulling away just enough to look into her eyes, but not so much that it broke their connection.

"Marry me, Mellie,"

he repeated. "I swear to ye, I'll make ye a fine husband. I'll spend the rest of my days loving ye, and proving how much I love ye. I'll support ye in all yer endeavors, whether that's raising prize ornamental chicken breeds or reform charities. I'll be more than happy to find space at Bestingbum for all of yer— our —pets. I'll even give up eating meat, if that's what ye want."

She was crying, wasn't she? She was absolutely crying.

"Kipling,"

she choked out, her palm cupping his cheek. "You mean it?"

"Aye."

He winced. "I'll miss bacon desperately, but if it means so much to ye—"

"No!"

She was laughing through her tears now. "I would not separate a man from his bacon. The rest? About loving me forever and wanting to marry me?"

His lips found hers once more. "I meant all of it, love. All of it ."

In between kisses, he murmured, "Marry me, Mellie. Make me the happiest man in Britain, and I swear I'll spend the rest of my life making ye happy."

"Oh, Kipling!"

She tightened her hold on him. "You already do. You always have."

His lips were trailing down her throat now. "So?"

"Yes! I would be honored to be your wife!"

"The Duchess of Bestingbum?"